By Return of Post: The Hidden Story of PotO
by Amorai
Summary: More than just gossip floated around in the opera house. If you only knew what Erik, Christine, Raoul, Carlotta and Co. wrote when they had the chance...featuring unexpected cameos, an angsty O.G. and plenty of Raoul-bashing! NEWLY UPDATED
1. Laissez Faire Correspondence

**Author's blurb: Thanks for joining me in my latest fanfic! Here you'll find lots of bullying/dark humor and also some references to pop culture and occasionally PotO movie trivia, which you can find on the IMDB website (and explains Carlotta's "silver platter" rant). ****This fanfic recycles some punchlines with my other work "Parody of the Opera". ENJOY!  
**

Part One: Laissez-faire Correspondence

To the citizens of Paris,

There is to be a silent auction held on September 10th at the decrepit remains of the Opera Populaire. Come prepared to bid on a cursed chandelier and other opera items, swoon over the former glory of what was once a thriving and beautiful performance facility and sneak peeks at the naked gold statues. However, beware of bird poop dropping on your head. It is advised that you bring an umbrella, or wear a very large white hat. Also, it is apparent that someone has managed to build a time machine…out of the aforementioned chandelier. Subsequently, be prepared for nonconsensual time travel of vague destination.

Best,  
The Pompous Auctioneer

* * *

My dear Madame Giry,

It was a delight to see you in the Opera Populaire today. Thank you for graciously letting me have the monkey music box for Christine. I know you lusted after it when Erik showed you the finished product. Too bad, now it is MINE! Bwahahahaaaaaaaaaa!

Victoriously,  
The Senile, Bratty-Boy Raoul

P.S: Yes, I survived that night in the cellars of the opera house. I knew you were secretly hoping that Erik and Christine could end up together. News flash, old woman: I got Christine, and Erik was left all alone to die of a broken heart. I won, he lost. Suck it up and get over it already.

* * *

Wigmaker,

My stuffed head in the Hannibal rehearsal today was completely unacceptable. Apparently, you think the audience cannot tell the difference between a human head and a modified pillowcase with yarn attached to it. A real head is far superior. Bring me Andrew Lloyd Webber's plate on a silver platter tomorrow morning. If you fail, the head on the silver platter will be yours!

You owe me BIG,  
Carlotta

* * *

Dear Mme. Giry,

I saw Raoul today! I mean, the Vicomte de Chagny! He didn't see me, though, and I think I know why. I know our Hannibal costumes bare enough skin as they are for this time period, but perhaps you could request on my behalf that the costumes be made to be more revealing? Perhaps Raoul will notice me then! Just think—a hundred and ten years from now, a blonde singer named Madonna will prance around onstage modeling a cone bra (which is exactly what it sounds like) and tight pants. A hundred and thirty years from now, another blonde singer named Britney Spears will prance around onstage wearing only a bra and shorts. A hundred and forty years from now…a blonde Lady Gaga will decide to hump an inflatable whale and encourage us to just dance. Your choice…

Your second daughter in need,  
Christine

* * *

Dear God,

Ah, me! Not my dress! WHYYYYYY?!

I demand answers,  
Carlotta

* * *

Firmin and Andre,

I stand firm. Until the Opera Ghost stops attacking me, mah boobs do not sing for you.

No negotiation,  
Carlotta

* * *

To Mssrs. Firmin and Andre,

Welcome to my kingdom! A few rules as you explore my vast and thoroughly booby-trapped domain: Lay a fingertip on Box Five and I will see that Carlotta comes to a very nasty end. Venture into the catacombs of the Opera Populaire and I will string you up like one of Carlotta's piñatas. Touch Christine Daaé in the ballet troupe and I will personally skewer you like a shish kabob. By the way, gentlemen, you owe me forty thousand francs, as Monsieur Lefevre forgot to give me last month's salary.

Your obedient servant,  
O. G.

P.S: I've just slipped poison in the champagne you gentlemen are saving for the debut of _Il Muto_. Andre will find himself clutching his chest with severe heartburn soon after he drinks it. So much for your secret boyfriend, Firmin! Bwahahahaaaa!

* * *

My Beloved Angel of Music,

I am to perform Elissa's aria, "Think of Me", from _Hannibal_ at the gala tonight. Shall Raoul be there? Shall the mayor of Paris be there? I pray, give me strength, my Angel. It would not do to faint with shock at seeing my childhood love in one of the boxes watching me.

Help me,  
Christine

* * *

My enchanting Christine,

My dear, you are an accomplished and wonderful student and shall bring all of France to its knees. But what's all this disillusioned rubbish about the Vicomte de Chagny? I'm considering taking a pair of scissors to his hair after I dunk him upside down and use him to mop up the mess that Carlotta's poodles made next to my organ today. The Vicomte de Chagny also stole my private box, the fraud. That insolent boy will soon be one more dead body to tuck into my closet. Interact no more with the fool, that is an order from your Angel. Otherwise, _you shall face my wrath tonight!_

Overindulged in anger,  
Your Angel of Music

* * *

Mlle. de Dressmaker,

Thank you very much for being able to accept my dress and alter it on such short notice. If possible, I'd like the slit to be extended all the way up to my hip. As you know very well, showing a little leg always results in admirers swooning all over me. However, showing all of my leg will result in a free gondola ride with the love of my life. Please and thank you.

Best,  
Christine Daaé

* * *

Ms. Emmy Rossum,

You are doing marvelously in your role as Christine Daaé. But kindly do try to look more surprised or enthralled when I beckon you through your dressing room mirror into my hidden world. We've been doing retakes of this scene for forty-five minutes now and as you know, Mr. Schumacher is a stickler in bad need of a haircut. It's hot in this suit, I itch all over, I'm sweating this stupid mask off and I want to go home to rest. Can't you at least PRETEND that you find me irresistible?

Never irritate a Phantom,  
Gerard Butler


	2. The Rants of the Opera Ghost

Part Two: The Rants of the Opera Ghost

My Christine,

My deepest and most sincere apologies for turning my volatile temper on you yesterday morning when you took off my mask. If you really must know, I had inhaled too much paint fumes and chalk dust in the statue workshop earlier when I was spying on—I mean, when I was travelling through my domain.

My regrets,  
Erik

P.S: How is that lump on your forehead healing?

* * *

Dear Andre,

I must sarcastically applaud your incredibly misguided taste in good stage performers. Christine brings thrown roses and half-hour standing ovations with her seraph's voice while Carlotta screeches like a senile old lady. And yet you insist on giving Carlotta all the lead roles. If this continues, I will be forced to take care of the problem myself. Consider that a threat and a warning! Additionally, did I mention that the polka-dotted waistcoat you are currently wearing is a sad, sad fashion faux-pas?

Your openly-mocking servant,  
O. G.

* * *

Dear Firmin,

There are three possibilities for your behavior regarding my salary thus far. Either you a) are illiterate and cannot read my letter, b) you are blind and cannot immediately decipher what I wrote in the letter, or c) you have received my letter, fully understand the contents and simply chose not to reply or respond in any form. I sincerely hope that it is not the latter. You have twenty-four hours to reply with an acceptable explanation. In the meantime, I shall jack up the amount owed me to fifty thousand francs.

Your manipulative and bullying servant,  
O. G.

P.S: Your pompadour mullet makes me laugh. I may have thinning hair underneath this magnificent black wig, but at least I have the dignity not to backcomb the hair near the crown of my head. Have a pleasant day.

* * *

To the Vicomte de Chagny,

No fear. Your future fiancée is in capable hands. The hands of a obsessive creeper and murderer, but capable hands all the same. What Christine needs is a man. A *real* man. Let me kindly point out that you have hair as unacceptable as Carlotta's poodles' fur (and you shed twice as much…on this very expensive carpet, where it will be impossible to get out). Additionally, say what you like about your "lilting tenor voice", as Amorai generously calls it in "The Devil's Apple," but you sing like a girl. I'll confess that I do not have any concrete answers to this puzzling conundrum, but if you feel the need to confess that you are a eunuch or something similar, feel free to do so at any time. No question about it, my dear Christine and 98% of the Phans out there will choose me over you. At this point, it would be an appropriate time to say that I am sorry for saying such things. However, I will hold my tongue and my pen, because I would just be lying.

Your fiancée-kidnapping servant,  
O. G.

* * *

My dear Carlotta,

Go and deposit yourself at the Burned-Out Opera Singers Nursing Home. Christine can take it from here, thank you very much. If Christine sounds like an angel…you are a piece of lint in a trash heap. If you dare defy my orders…know that I shall be laughing in the rafters several minutes into tonight's performance of _Il Muto_. You have a phobia of toads, do you not? No reason for asking… I was just wondering.

Your dominating and bossy servant,  
O. G.

P.S: Although the script of _Il Muto_ orders you to kiss the Pageboy, I beg you to refrain from doing so tonight at all costs, whether real or simulated. Watching you kiss my beloved in any way disturbs me much more than you can ever comprehend.

* * *

Mssrs. Firmin and Andre,

Although you two gentlemen are of the highest breed of genteel aristocracy, you have overwhelmingly poor proficiency in matching the characteristics of an actor with the role they play onstage. For example, your casting for _Il Muto_. The Countess in _Il Muto_ needs to have both grace and charisma. Carlotta has neither. Indeed, she is lacking in many things. Therefore, Christine will take her place while Carlotta is demoted to the role of the pageboy. As for appearance and makeup, Christine is a born Countess. Carlotta is a born monkey. Feel free to make her uglier. And your makeup artists won't even have to work that hard…Carlotta's base material is ugly enough to begin with.

Your obnoxious and foul-mouthed servant,  
O. G.


	3. So Who's the Prima Donna?

**Author's blurb: An E6 is the note Carlotta hits when singing "Our star!" just before "Prima Donna". Christine's highest note is an E-flat, just below it (in the movie only). The movie didn't explain it, but drinking wine out of the prima donna's shoe is supposed to bring good luck for a performance. Enjoy!**

Part Three: So Who's the Prima Donna?

To the Red-Haired Lady Wearing a Purple Dress and Pink Furs,

We beseech you to kindly identify yourself as either Carlotta Giudicelli or Christine Daaé prior to dramatically throwing open the doors of the Opera Populaire, as we apparently cannot tell the difference between the both of you.

Many thanks,  
The Enthusiastic Prima Donna Mob

* * *

The Enthusiastic Mob,

What on earth do you mean, you can't tell the difference between the puny ingénue and I? The differences are very clear. I can sing. She cannot. I can hit an E6 natural while she has to settle for an E-flat. What else is there left to say? Now go and leave me in peace, otherwise I shall set my poodles upon you all.

Back off,  
Carlotta

* * *

To Parisian Chocolates,

Our thanks for the free chocolate you generously gave us for Carlotta. However, we regret to inform you that Carlotta expressed extreme distaste in what you had to offer her. She insists that she will take only Godiva with no fruit creams or coconut and that the amount of cacao be no lower than 75%. As our duties at the Opera Populaire and our continued bribery of Carlotta keep us extremely busy, we respectfully request that you do us the favor of requesting said desired chocolate from the Godiva chocolate store across the street. One of us will pick them up within the hour.

Don't fall into the chocolate vats,  
Mssrs. Andre and Firmin

* * *

Mlle. Giudicelli,

Drinking wine out of your shoe today for luck would have been delightful, except for the aroma I found inside. Your feet stink. Haven't you ever heard of putting baking soda in your shoes to absorb odor?

Respectfully,  
Firmin

* * *

Carlotta, my child,

Your anguished repetitions of the question "Ah, me! Not my dress! WHY?!" have been answered. I will send you a pink dress by air mail as you prepare for your role as Countess in the debut of _Il Muto._

Blessings from Heaven,  
God

* * *

Monsieur Firmin,

I must politely object the fact that in _Il Muto_, I a) play a boy and b) make out with Carlotta. Do you not know that Carlotta and I are rivals for the public's adoration? And yet you demand on casting me in the role of Carlotta's secret lover! What kind of farce is this? I therefore request monetary appeasement at once; you and Monsieur Andre have way too much as it is.

Your frustrated Pageboy,  
Christine

* * *

Monsieur Piangi,

I beg you not to smack my buttocks like you have been doing in rehearsals for _Il Muto_. It is improper and demeaning. Please save that for Carlotta in the bedroom and other places. Indeed, feel free to smack her as often as you like. I don't like her much.

Respectfully yours,  
Meg Giry

* * *

To the Lemon-Colored Fop in _Il Muto_,

Your behavior tonight as we transitioned into the ballet in Act Three was abysmal. You DO NOT paw the curtain searching for the center hem and you DO NOT put on a mini ballet show for the audience. Leave it to the ballet girls, that is why they are here! Not only was your behavior unprofessional, it certainly amused the Vicomte de Chagny sitting in Box Five. And as you know, the last thing we want is to start entertaining the possibility that the Vicomte is homosexual. Consider yourself fired and your position terminated. A carriage will be here shortly to pick you up.

Thank you for your years of service (NOT),  
Monsieur Reyer

* * *

Monsieur Joseph Buquet,

I implore you to immediately cease your goal of hunting me down in the rafters of the Opera Populaire. It will never come to fruition, as I am only seen when I want to be. Be warned, should you continue your dogged attempt to find me tonight during _Il Muto_, you shall meet a terrifying and most untimely demise.

Your openly-rebelling servant,  
O.G.

P.S: Watch out for the floorboards of the rafters, they can be tricky.  
P.P.S: I hope you trip.

* * *

Monsieur Joel Schumacher,

I must decry your decision to rearrange certain plot points of Christine's and my story. I will let you know that for this motion picture I had originally planned to cut down the chandelier during _Il Muto_ like I have done for the past eighteen years onstage. Yet you continue to test my patience by, among other things, shoving my planned chandelier crash to the debut of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Gloried as you might be for your *cough* **success** *cough* in directing _Batman Forever_, you apparently have little to no understanding of how my mind works. If Christine shall unmask me in _Don Juan Triumphant_ (a very foolish thing to do, but I will forgive her because I love her), I will be more concerned with getting the hell outta there than amusing myself with the sight of a $1.3 million chandelier falling from the sky.

Get a haircut,  
The Phantom of the Opera

P.S: My name is ERIK, for crying out loud. Thank you for never addressing that in the movie.

* * *

To the Costume Department of the Opera Populaire,

I am very unsatisfied about my atrocious costume as the Countess of _Il Muto_. It does not in any way match Mlle. Giudicelli's magnificent ensemble. Our audience members may be rich and occasionally snotty, but they are not blind. At least give me the CliffNotes version of Carlotta's costume without the three-foot-tall wig, because frankly, it looks silly.

Impatient and waiting,  
Christine Daaé

* * *

Raoul, my love,

I await you near the staircase. We are only a hairs-breadth away from openly declaring our love to each other and mightily pissing off the Phantom.

All my love,  
Christine

* * *

My darling Christine,

I shall find you in my arms very soon as we make our grand escape to the roof. Shall we play hide and seek among the numerous statues there? I'll be It.

Your long-haired love,  
Raoul

* * *

To Monsieur Anthony Pratt,

With you being the production designer for this movie, I am lodging an official complaint for failing to comply with the strict regulations regarding the safety of people upon body-bearing movie set pieces. Immediately after the camera crew finished shooting that massive pullout at the end of my onscreen rant on the rooftop, there was a loud creaking sound right in front of my knees and the entire front half of the statue cracked into pieces, falling all the way to the ground far below. Had I been perched forward only a few more inches, I would have fallen and sustained very serious injuries. See to it that the statue is fixed immediately. Your priority is to keep me alive. This scene makes many Phangirls weep and I prefer to express my perpetual angst and pain in relative safety.

Your very pissed servant,  
O.G.


	4. Let the Feathers Fly

Part Four: Let the Feathers Fly

My darling Firmin,

I shall look for you tonight under the stars and splendid fireworks. Do try not to injure your girl with those ram's horns.

Forever yours,  
Andre

* * *

My dearest Andre,

I shall wander through the chaotic darkness, searching for the rooster-head that is the only thing that can calm the raging flame in me. Shall we slip away to dance in private later, my precious one?

Fed up with waiting,  
Firmin

P.S: My girl's prettier than yours.

* * *

My sweet Carlotta,

I must beg you to stuff your boobs into your Masquerade dress more securely. They are falling out.

Yours for eternity,  
Piangi

* * *

Mlle. de Dressmaker,

As requested, please alter the neckline of my white Masquerade gown. If I can't get a man by being of a normal height, at least let me get him with my generous boobs.

Best,  
Meg Giry

* * *

Dear Alexandra Byrne,

As the costume designer for _The Phantom of the Opera_, I expected you to have a little more taste for what is decent to wear compared to what is embarrassing. So how did that ridiculous obese-cow costume end up in the mix? When I wear it I have no visible neck and everything below my supposed neck area is grossly enlarged in an irregular black and white checkerboard pattern. And if Gerard Butler gets hot in his suits as the Phantom, thank God _he's_ not dancing in _this_. I am done with being laughed at behind my back. I hereby demand my full salary at once and will leave this project immediately as soon as I find a flight out of the UK. Rest assured that I will never again get involved in another movie where you are the costume designer. Others have the luxury to boo, but because of that idiotic cow costume and how people now address me as "the fat-cow guy", I'm forced to moo instead. But I do it with plenty of gusto. MOOOOOOOOOO!

Get out of my life,  
An Angry Extra

* * *

To the AV Monsieurs and Confetti Scatterers,

I will make my grand entrance at the masquerade ball exactly sixty-six minutes after it begins. I respectfully request that at that moment, the confetti ceases to fall and that, most importantly, the lights be dimmed dramatically. Do not forget to play my chromatic six-note theme song. Should these commands be ignored, you shall find your strangled wives at home with their heads in the chamber pot. Bwahaha!

Your devilish servant,  
O. G.

* * *

Gerard Butler,

Please close your mouth in those last few shots just before you and Emmy meet each other on the staircase in "Why So Silent". You look like an idiot when your mouth dangles open like that.

Your boss and the one who pays you,  
Joel Schumacher

* * *

Mr. Schumacher,

If you noticed, in all the of the Phangirls' favorite shots and promotional stills of this movie, my mouth is almost never closed. And that's why they love me so much as the Phantom. If I do look like an idiot in said staircase scene, at least I'm an idiot with sexy black eyeliner on. Which gets the girls, which gets more DVD and Blu-Ray sales. Try and argue against _that_.

Respectfully,  
Gerry Butler

* * *

Monsieur Butler,

I find your insistence on calling me "the Phantom" both incorrect and highly irritating. As I informed our director, my real and correct name is ERIK. Learn it, use it.

Your fed-up servant,  
O. G.

P.S: I can swish the ol' cape better than you on any given day.

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny,

Despite the fact that you are a high-born aristocrat and have surely studied all the gentlemen's arts at some point, your swordsmanship is a huge joke. So huge, in fact, it made me laugh after Madame Giry rescued you from what was supposed to be my torture chamber in the original book. And as you may have figured out, I haven't laughed in an extremely long time. So thank you. By the way, you will find that over the past half-hour, a great deal of your hair products have mysteriously disappeared, never to be found again. Bwahahahaaa!

Your ROFLing servant,  
O. G.

P.S: Just in case you were wondering, you still suck.

* * *

My precious Christine,

I shall stand guard outside your bedroom tonight to chase away bad dreams, including those of a certain dark-haired, green-eyed man with extraordinary cape-swishing skills that aspires to kidnap you. Again.

Your fiancé,  
Raoul

* * *

My sweet Raoul,

Thank you, but that would not be necessary. I know my Angel—he will not come to me, he waits for me to approach him. Planning to meet him very early tomorrow morning to get enthralled all over again. See you!

Your soon-to-be gone love,  
Christine

* * *

Note to self—

Be more subtle about plans for getting Christine, because she's somehow found you out twice. Which won't do for a mysterious ghost, _oui?_

–Erik

* * *

Monsieur Schumacher,

Is it really reasonable that the Vicomte de Chagny departs the Opera Populaire mere moments after Christine and I do, yet arrives at the cemetery a full five minutes after she does? Well, a strange occurrence, but one applauded by me, as it only makes the Vicomte look more stupid.

Your celebratory servant,  
O. G.

P.S: I hope he got lost along the way.

* * *

Father,

Wishing you were somehow here again…because I'm just so needy like that. Nine years have passed, father, and I'm falling in love…where did you go?

Your grieving daughter,  
Christine

P.S: The Angel of Music came to me, just like you promised. He is a creeper, a killer and a very angry man with a sword, but he is also _very_ sexy. He says hi.

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny,

Say what you like, but I as good as won that duel we had in the cemetery today. At the very least, my go-ahead-and-kill-me pose on my back in the snow made devoted Phangirls like Amorai swoon. Can you say the same, Poodle Boy?

Your smirking servant,  
O. G.

P.S: How's the cut on your arm?

P.P.S: I hope it festers. A lot.

* * *

My angelic Christine,

Thank you for sparing my life in the cemetery. Now go and prepare yourself for a night of thinly-veiled metaphors, barely-scary prosthetics and 2.2 tons of crystal and metal falling from the ceiling, since Monsieur Schumacher refused to change his mind about the crash happening in Act II.

Your slightly-insane Angel,  
Erik

P.S: No, I do not forgive you.


	5. Getting the Last Laugh

**Author's blurb: Thanks for sticking with me thus far! Enjoy the final chapter of the infamous postal exchange between the members of the Opera Populaire!**

Part Five: Getting the Last Laugh

Mssrs. Andre and Firmin,

As brilliant as you two gentlemen are, may I emphasize once again, you two are also extraordinarily stupid when it comes to casting. I have seen rehearsals of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Why is Carlotta even in it? You know my extreme distaste for her. I don't care how small a role she plays, what I do care about is that she never steps onstage during any performances of my magnum opus. See to it that she is removed from that role at once. Otherwise, you have great cause to fear for your chandelier.

Your indignant servant,  
O. G.

P.S: If you think that bullets can hurt me, you are sadly mistaken.

* * *

Monsieur Piangi,

Unlike your significant other, you do have some vocal talent and that is why, during the masquerade ball, I gave you the coveted role of Don Juan in my new opera. Perhaps you have forgotten, but I gave you the role _only on condition_ that you lose the pudginess that is your prominent belly. Know that I gave you that advice because I have your best interests at heart. Yes, a great deal of successful opera singers are "blissfully curvy" or "heavyset" due to their rather astonishing lung power, but your type of heavysetness will more likely than not contribute to an early death. Although Don Juan met his demise in the original story, it would not do to lose you, especially when considering the title of this opera. So see to it that you lose the belly. Fast. Otherwise, I shall be obliged to show the audience what an ideal Don Juan is…after making sure you're out of the picture.

Your death-threat-carrying servant,  
O. G.

* * *

To the director of _Don Juan Triumphant_,

A short, overweight Don Juan disappeared behind the curtain. A taller, leaner Don Juan came out of it. Do you honestly expect us to believe that the actors are one and the same?

Demanding an answer,  
The Rich Audience Members Who Keep Your Opera House Running

* * *

My dear Christine,

Admit it, I am so much sexier than Piangi as Don Juan.

All my love,  
Erik

* * *

Erik, my Angel,

You are indeed much sexier than Piangi as Don Juan. By the way, I never got a good look at your facial deformity that time in the catacombs of the Opera Populaire. Would you mind if I ripped off your mask during _Don Juan Triumphant_ at the climax of your love song for me?

Your earthbound soulmate,  
Christine

* * *

Christine, my bff,

You looked so incredibly lovely and sensual in Erik's arms at the end of "No Return." Would you mind if I borrowed him for a while tonight?

Your dear friend,  
Meg

* * *

Dearest Meg,

No, you may not. Erik is MINE.

Sorry,  
Christine

* * *

To Christine Daae,

WE WANT ERIK TOO! **PLEAAAAAAAAAAASE!**

Pretty please, we love him,  
Amorai and the Phangirls

* * *

To Joel Schumacher,

The Phantom's so-called deformity is revealed during _Don Juan_ to be no more than a lumpy sunburn. It's supposed to be _horrific,_ for crying out loud! What's this pitiful excuse for a facial deformity? Furthermore, Gerard Butler cannot sing. AT ALL. How dare you cast this pitiful imitation of the great Michael Crawford as the Phantom and try to pass off the Phantom's excruciatingly graphic deformity as merely lumpy and slightly discolored! I hereby demand an immediate refund for my movie ticket ($8.50). Rest assured, I will not be buying the DVD.

Thanks for wasting 2.5 hours of my precious time with this terrible movie,  
A pissed-off, ripped-off _musical _Phan

* * *

Dear Emmy,

Do not freak out too much about the sunburn, princess. The makeup artists left the tanning lamp on too long today.

Best,  
Gerry

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny,

Once again, I have taken your lover right in front of your eyes. Do not expect to find her, or survive your trip down into the cellars in search of us. I have rigged up a handy trapdoor that leads into a drowning chamber should that be the case. Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!

Your fiancé-kidnapping servant (once again),  
O. G.

P.S: The information that Madame Giry has given you is incorrect. You should NOT keep your hand at the level of your eyes. I mean, how will that prevent you from drowning, anyway?

* * *

Mlle. Carlotta Giudicelli,

I am not at all sorry for killing your significant other. He was ugly as dirt. Go out and find someone more handsome who's worthy of your love. Not me, though—I'm already taken.

Your murderous and unrelenting servant,  
O. G.

* * *

My fair Christine,

Do not fear for your life. I am coming to rescue you as I write these words. Even if I shall turn up looking like a twice-drowned puppy, I will find you, Little Lotte.

Your one and only,  
Raoul

P. S: Do I really look like a poodle?

* * *

To the Vicomte de Chagny,

Would you care to explain how the name "Christine" somehow got contorted into the completely irrelevant nickname Little Lotte?

Awaiting an answer,  
A logic-driven, confuzzled Phan

* * *

The Vicomte de Chagny,

For being a gentlemen who rushes off to the cemetery to save an apparent damsel in distress, you appear to have absolutely no backbone when threatened with immediate death. I ask that you please stop crying when tied to the portcullis, as it only makes you look pathetic.

Your imploring servant,  
O. G.

P.S: I say this for your sake, but if you must know, I actually find your crying rather funny. Please continue.

* * *

Gerard Butler,

I am writing to you concerning your kiss with Emmy Rossum. Who on earth smiles or half-smiles when they cry? You must cry wholeheartedly and convincingly, or consider yourself fired from this project.

This is your last chance,  
Joel Schumacher

* * *

Christine, my Angel,

Thank you very much for the ring. I do not understand at all why you would give me something from my rival, but after my mother abandoned me and after you unmasked me without my consent—twice—I've given up trying to understand a young woman's mind.

Yours forever and ever,

Erik

P.S: You wouldn't happen to have another one of those kisses for me, would you?

* * *

To the Vicomte de Chagny,

See to it that you give Christine a wonderful life and that you make her happy. And I beg of you not to be cruel to her, because that will only give true basis to those published Phanfictions where you become evil or mentally insane. Know that I am a changed man, but I will not hesitate to step in should I hear of any misdeeds against her. I will rest easy if I never hear anything from or about you again. Now get out of my life and let me mourn my loss of Christine in peace.

Your former servant,  
O. G.

P.S: I was wondering if I could borrow Christine during the weekends.

* * *

Meg,

To show that I will not accept any apologies you might have for plotting to take Erik away from me, I have left the Opera Populaire with Raoul and we are currently travelling to a place of unknown destination. And do not waste your energy tracking down Erik, for I highly suspect that he has gone as well. Adieuuuuuuu! Have fun trying to find us!

No longer your friend,  
Christine

* * *

Mlle. Meg Giry,

As you know, I have a policy of trying to suppress any Phans' theories that you and I are romantically involved. No offense, mademoiselle, but it's crystal clear that I only have eyes for your best friend. However, as the debut of _Don Juan Triumphant_ happened to fall on your birthday (today), I would like you to accept the gift of my mask. Consider it a present from the one and only Opera Ghost that is not a Punjab lasso around the neck.

Happy birthday,  
The Phantom of the Opera

P.S; And no, this does not mean I love you. Sorry.

* * *

To the Vicomte de Chagny,

Thanks a bunch for stealing my monkey music box. Just like you stole my soulmate, you also stole the only thing that comforted me when all else was lost. Thank you, Monsieur Kleptomaniac, I'll be taking it back now. Hoping not to see you in the afterlife. Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Yours respectfully,  
The Phantom of the Opera

P.S: Thank you for cutting your hair at last. I may be old, but I'm still more handsome than you. Muahahahaaaa!


End file.
